Hit and Run
by Zapwing
Summary: REVISED. Even giant robots have hobbies, you know. But, sometimes, even a hobby can lead to perverse obsession. Experimental Fic for an OC. Reviews and advice are appreciated.


**WARNING:** **This one shot is OC-centric.**

**Just thought you should know...**

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><p><strong>Hit and Run<strong>

The sun was setting over the small shop-lined street. People walked back and forth between the buildings, customers, tourists, children, all hurrying to snag something before the shops closed for the night, or before it got too dark. Everybody was too busy paying mind to their own business, their own petty affairs, be it a last minute anniversary gift, or a dinner they had to catch, or whether they should take the red one or the blue one. So you can understand why nobody spared the Lamborghini anything more than a glance. Well, one or two youths had stopped by to admire the paintjob, but that was to be expected. I mean, how many well painted Lamborghinis do you get to see in your lifetime anyway? Speaking of paint, the Lambo was mostly matte purple and black, with a few hints of white. A highly exaggerated front grille had been attached, to give the impression of a fanged beast, and a spoiler had been mounted at the rear of the vehicle.

It was very intimidating.

And so, time passed. The sun ran its dull course, the shoppers dispersed, the street lights flicked on, and the street slowly became a ghost town. The parking spaces had emptied completely, every single SUV, sedan, and motorbike having departed, leaving no automobile in sight. That was the first impression the young brown haired man had, as he took off his apron, and hat, folded it up neatly, and placed it in the small locker. His nametag read _Michael_. He sighed as he locked up the deli, stowing away the keys, satisfied of another day's job well done. Turning away from the glass doors, and walking across the street whistling to himself, he wondered if he should watch television tonight, or just turn on the PlayStation…

And that was when the headlights hit him at full blast. With an intake of breath, the young man shielded his eyes. When his vision adjusted, he peeked out from behind his arms, and stared in shock at the purple Lamborghini whose rims he'd complimented upon earlier that day. It was coming straight at him, engine roaring, grille vibrating, wheels screeching. Michael had only enough time to scream before the car collided with him.

Getting hit by a car is no laughing matter, especially when its grille's plates are really painstakingly sharpened monomolecular blades. Young Michael's rib cage broke, no, shattered on impact, with a sickening crunch, like potato chips being powdered. Gouts of blood exploded from his mouth and spattered onto the hood, and the top half of his spine punched out of the back of his neck. His torso and thighs were lacerated by the bladed grille, sending more blood onto the spotless car, the sharp edges poking out the back of his body. The car continued down the deserted street, paying no mind to speed limits, the human's limp body still stuck to the front, limbs flopping like a rag doll. After a few seconds, the car came to a halt, the human's carcass dropping to the tarmac, eyes staring blankly at the clouded night sky, face still locked in a horrified scream. His limbs lay spread-eagled at impossible angles, blood, bile, and other bodily fluids pooling around him. The boy's entrails peeked out from the deep wounds, covered with oozing punctures of their own.

Silence descended upon the deserted street. Inside the purple Lamborghini, a red holographic display flared up across the windshield, invisible to anyone outside the vehicle. On it was a snapshot, a picture taken of Michael, a split second before the impact. Eyes wide, pupils dilated, screaming, arms in front of his face. A second window opened containing twenty other such images, all people in their last moments. A businessman on his way back from a meeting, a schoolteacher leaving the campus, a father of two crossing the street…

Not that the cybertronian really knew who these people were, or what they did. They were just victims to him, these snapshots mere trophies, something for him to gleefully reminisce on when he had a quiet moment alone, in his quarters. He saved Michael's picture to the secure file, joining his brethren. The victims would now be counted to twenty one. The holo-screen winked out, and the cybertronian did a quick scan of the surrounding area. He'd already done one before the hit, but he wanted to be sure. Assured that there were no organics or other cybertronians in the vicinity, he proceeded to transform. The Lamborghini's frame vibrated for a split second, and broke apart, plates separating and repositioning themselves, engine retracting, wheels elevating.

The Decepticon stood, inspecting the human's twisted corpse. He was very averagely built, a little shorter than an Eradicon, with a thin waist, digitigrade legs that resembled the hind limbs of an agile predator, clawed pedes, and the Lamborghini's spoiler split in half and forming shoulder blades that shot upwards, the grill compacting to form a fanged mouth on his chest, his blood-red optics glowing in the darkness of the night. He kneeled down, claws reaching down to touch the human's body, inspecting his work. His face, had it been human, would have looked completely unremarkable. There were no distinguishing marks, to pointed chin, no overly wide forehead, or distinctive optical brows. A face for all occasions, then, a face which could be completely overlooked anywhere on Cybertron.

A com link opened up.

"_Roadkill, where are you?"_

The 'Con ignored Knockout's voice as his servos picked and prodded at Michael's carcass; there was something curious about these gashes, like there was a hidden message in them, a hidden meaning of some sort…

"_Roadkill…"_

"What is it?" he answered, as he flipped the body over with a digit. The spine flopped about, a vertebra falling off with a clatter. This body was almost poetic, he thought, so many verses and stanzas…

"_Oh, thank Primus," _said Knockout, in mock relief,_ "He deigns to answer. Where are you?"_

"Somewhere in New Jersey, I don't know where exactly. Why?"

"_Oh, nothing, just decided to check up on you, making sure the new recruit doesn't get too frisky when he's off duty." _Roadkill laughed a little as he flipped the body back to its original position. "Too frisky? Look who's talking…"He heard Knockout laughing back. Roadkill wasn't the only one with unusual hobbies.

_"So, who did you hit this time?"_

"Oh, you know, same old, same old," drawled Roadkill, "Poor fleshy just walking by, minding his own business, and then a hot rod comes and smacks him in the face…" He heard Knockout shudder a little. _"Eurgh…all that vile fluid…"_ he said, in disgust, _"I just tolerate your antics because you have a sense of humor. And that you wash yourself every time you get back…"_

"Aw, come on, K.O, you should try it! It feels great!"

"_I think I'll keep my paintjob nice and clean, thank you very much…"_

Roadkill shook his head sadly. He really wished that Knockout would try and see how fun all this was. Oh well, at least Breakdown found it hilarious as well…_"You got the snapshot, didn't you?"_ said Knockout. Roadkill heard the clatter of instruments in the back ground. "Of course I got a snapshot," said Roadkill, grinning, as he turned the human's face side to side, relishing the look of terror on the organic's face. Beautiful… "I'll show it to you when I Bridge back onboard, okay?"

"_Wonderful."_ There was a sudden commotion, yelling and shouting, over the com, followed by Knockout swearing. _"We'll talk when you get back,"_ said Knockout, _"I've got a patient."_

"Good luck, man," said Roadkill, ending his transmission. He performed one last inspection of the corpse, and satisfied, he stood up and silently walked a few blocks towards a car wash service. He bent down, beneath several overhangs, and his servos rooted about, until he found what he was looking for. Roadkill smiled as he extricated the hose, and twisted the mechanism on its business end. A coll jet of water shot forth, and Roadkill proceeded to wash off the human's bloodstains. He didn't want to frighten off potential victims now, did he?

Once he was sure that he was clean enough, he transformed back into vehicle mode and drove down the street, avoiding the main road, leaving behind the body for the local police to puzzle over. He turned at an intersection, and then cruised down another street, passing several late night bars and clubs. There were more humans in this part of town, at this hour, but this was not what Roadkill was looking for. He preferred his victims to be alone, and where there would be less chance of a rescue. It made things much, much more...delicious.

After several turnings later, he turned off his headlights, and silenced his engine as he came upon a quiet side street, possibly a quiet part of the city's red light district. His sensors told him that there were very few humans around, and as such, they were less likely to hear anything. And he was glad they could not, because he'd struck gold. A woman was now crossing the street, fishing out a set of car keys from her pocket. In one arm, she held a tiny infant, who was sound asleep, head on her shoulder.

Roadkill felt a gleeful thrill. Pasting one human at a time was good enough, but two at once? Jackpot!

"Oh, scrap _yes_…"

He revved his engine, and shot forwards, the silenced engine not even making a sound. A few meters away, and he threw up the headlights, removing the silencer on his engine, letting it roar. The woman noticed and screamed, arms curled protectively over her baby. The infant woke with a start, at the sudden noise, and began to cry loudly.

Right before the collision, the mother could have sworn she had heard the snap-and-click of a camera.

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><p><strong>Read and Review, dear readers!<strong>

**And remember, look both ways before crossing the street!**

**Especially if you see a purple Lamborghini somewhere nearby!**


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